The sound of forest frogs and crickets rang in Adrian's foggy head as she lay looking through that dirty sunbeam. Mister Gelos hauled in another small bucket of smelly well water, sloshing it over his dirty bare legs.

"Awake are you?" he said in his guttural frontier accent through smiling teeth that were yellow and chipped.

She turned her head toward him and felt the familiar sharp jolt of pain in her back.

"How's the arm, then?"

"It's gone numb."

It was mending crooked in the rough splint that he had fashioned for her. The cuts in her leg still burned and the swelling had gotten worse as the wounds festered and became yellow.

He set the water beside the woven grass mat, kneeled next to her and wiped her forehead with a damp, stained cloth.

Adrian pushed his hand away and fought off another wave on nausea.

"No. Just let me rest. Leave me alone."

He sat back and scratched the hairs above his breastbone through the open front of his rough cotton shirt. Adrian saw in his eyes the truth that he was too kind to speak. She wasn't getting better. His hair, wild and tangled had seemed just another sign that the men were backward and uncivilized in this new frontier. Now it seemed regal, like a plume of a great bird, and it seemed as appropriate for him here in the tiny hut built by his own hands as the thin mustaches and cropped hair were appropriate for the gentry in Boret. His brow was wrinkled heavy, creased above his nose.

"Can we do nothing more? It's your leg what's sick. If it comes to it, I can take a hatchet to it. I seen it do some good on time passed."

Adrian watched the rough thatch roof with unfocused eyes, feeling the weight of truth in what he said. "What good am I lame?" she said, more as a plea than oath.

"More's good you could do, if you got a mind to it. Now you drink a bit o' this."

He soaked the rag in the water and held it dripping above her mouth. It tasted like clay, but it was cool and it soothed the dryness of her mouth.

It would have been better, she thought, to have been eaten by the trolls than to lie in her bloated, puss-stained body for the past three days, stiffening and going numb from the crunchy mat on the hard ground. This day had passed as had the others before it, filled with waking dreams and discomfort pushed aside by the pain and the sickness that drained what little lucidity remained while always, always those damned frogs filled the humid haze with their incessant clamor.

"I'll be near," he told her. With a slow, uncertain hand, he reached out and touched the hair along the side of her head, an intimate, friendly touch that seemed full of sad kindness and strength.

"I'll be near," he said again. He pulled himself away from her and scuffled the loose dirt under his sandals as he rose.

She began humming out a tune from her childhood in her broken, ragged voice as she remembered the words in her head: Old man of the town you'll fall right down if you don't change your ways. You'll loose your life to bitter strife and waste away your days. So count your money and find a wife before the devil plays. He'll break your bow and dull your knife and keep you in his maze.

He looked back and smiled at her as he ducked his head through the doorway. Below him little eyes peered in at her. The man's son was never far away.

"You can come in, Tanga."

The boy, seven or eight, stuck his head around the doorway and Adrian saw his little brown eyes, angry and distant, peeking through locks of sandy brown hair.

"Tanga," she called out again.

He stepped around the rough hewn doorway, his sandaled feet crunching lightly on the pebbles that rimmed the hut. The summer sunlight lit the back of his heavy homespun shirt, making him seem to be clothed in a halo of yellow gray. He stood for a moment with his chin against his chest, mouth open, showing his big teeth. His hands twirled a bit of straw.

When he looked up, tossing his head to clear away his bangs away from his freckles, he looked at Adrian squarely and asked in a soft, toneless voice, "You gonna die? Like Bella?"

"You haven't told me of Bella. Come on in, little weed. What happened to Bella?"

"Ain't much to tell." He scuffled his sandals, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He put the bit of straw in his mouth and pulled his hair into a pony tail then took the straw from his mouth and tied back his hair.

"Bella? See, she was Poda's ma. She done got caught by a bad bobcat, you know, with the madness. Then she took and went all sick. Screamin' and all like that."

"No, Tanga. That's not what got me."

"It was them trolls, right?" Tanga stepped in a little farther and sat on the floor. "Trolls are pretty bad. My pa killed hisself one of 'em last summer. Said he had to cut it up and burn it."

"That's what he told me. That was the right thing to do. You need to cut them up and burn them until they're black."

The boy looked down at the ground in front of him as he made little circles in the dirt. "If you get better maybe you can stay here."

The frogs sang, filling the quiet air between them. A breeze moved through the village, stirring up dust and singing in the trees.

"I ain't s'posed to notice, but it's hard on pa, you know."

"Tanga, I don't think that's going to happen."

He shrugged and just kept looking at the ground. After a few more dirt doodles he told her, "Ain't gotta be you die."

"Ain't gotta be I live either, little weed. We don't always get to pick"

"If you could pick. Would you?"

"You mean live, or stay here?"

He shrugged shyly but all he said was, "I like them stories you tell."

A cough started in the back of her throat, like a little tickle, but it soon pulled her up and it developed into deep spasms as she tried to clear her lungs. Each cough sent a slice of pain along her back until they calmed down and she was able to move over onto her side with her head resting on the shoulder of her bad arm.

When she was able to look again to Tanga, she saw that he was pale and afraid. He sat with his little body all tensed up and his hands clasped nervously between his knees. "Pa," he said in his little voice, trying to call out through a veil of pained surprise.

"I'm okay. Come here, boy," she said to him. A moment later, she added, "Come over here, Tanga."

He crawled over to where she could reach him. She patted the ground and when he lay down in front of her, she reached her good arm over and gently pulled him closer to her. "Let's just rest here for a while, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered.

Adrian closed here eyes and felt sleep again try to drag her body down.

Tanga's whisper carried her on toward another fitful slumber, "I sure like them stories you tell."

"Shh, little Tanga."

Soon the world disappeared into another episode of vivid, disjointed nightmares that chased her in and out of fits of sleep until she awoke alone, feeling the dampness of the dusky air and the chill of the purple sky. Oh, to be covered in a simple bedroll on a bed of soft leaves by a friendly fire.

Distant voices floated from down the hill. Suddenly the voices broke into the hut as Tanga brought in a companion.

Adrian turned her tired head toward the door and saw standing next to the coarse country boy a young girl wearing a dark green embroidered riding cloak, pants with riding chaps, and ankle boots. She stepped forward and pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing a shower of long, dark hair held in place by a green and yellow headband. She came forward quickly and lifted up the blanket over Adrian's cut up leg and grimaced.

"Here," she said. She took from her pouch a small bag and knelt next to Adrian's head. Carefully the girl pulled apart the drawstrings of the bag and took out a pinch of white powder which she rubbed across Adrian's forehead. Then she placed her cool little hands on Adrian's feverish cheeks and said in a clear, high voice, "Ohna Kana kana. Epella do. Kana pel obala abra."

It felt like heat, or a tickle, at first, but then Adrian became light headed, as if drunk, and some of the discomfort and nausea and stiffness was replaced by coolness and calm.

"I'll get my papa."

The cloaked girl put her powder bag back in its pouch and ran out.

Adrian turned to little Tanga who was smiling. He said, "The wizard man a-comin. He come hay and now, on we be needin him. You be okay now, fightin lady."

She lay back into the comforting calm of the girl's spell, relishing the release from the pain and tension that had been feeding on her body. Soon she heard the voice of Mister Gelos approaching. "A lucky night you comin, eh? It be close this one, I say."

A tall, slender figure, wearing an unadorned black robe ducked through the low doorway. A bit of the evening sky lit up his chiseled face, showing eyes set under deep brows and a pensive smile perched over a calm chin. He took two steps across the dirt floor and in deliberate and unhurried, yet piercingly efficient, motions, pulled away her cover, drew forth a tangle of some kind of thin yellow roots, and placed them over the deep troll cuts on her leg. Mister Gelos stood in a corner, quietly watching.

Adrian had seen a wizard once before, an old, spooky man with a cloudy left eye and a limp. The touch of this one filled her with a confused mix of concern and curiosity. It was said that touching the other word to draw forth its energy wore at their minds, turned them mad, and made the world seem less real to them.

The pressure on her thigh was sharp and painful, but eased as he began chanting, "Obala abra feren'cho. Chu Kana horenal Ipita ..." His words went on, ringing out clear and steady against the backdrop of the chattering forest frogs.

The pain of pressure on her unhealed wounds was replaced with a tremendous restlessness that stirred in the bone and crawled out as waves of heat through her exposed flesh. This became a deep, dull ache that was similar to the feel good pain of a deep, hard massage. It brought a moan up to her lips.

"You're going to be well," said the wizard quietly with a voice that sounded almost as lyrical speaking as it had chanting. He rolled Adrian onto her back and brought her arm with its splint to her side as he examined it.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Adrian Blackwing. I was scouting for a rout across the North Teshon Pass. Who are you, sport?"

"I am Estus Arrenkyle. The gentleman said you encountered some trolls."

"Three. I got away, but I didn't have a chance to destroy any of them."

"This is not good," he said, running his hands along her forearm, feeling the ridge of her misaligned radius bone. "Nyssa," he called out. Soon the girl ran up to the hut and came in. "In my left bag, in the main part, there's the roll of white cotton. Bring that to me, please."

"Okay, papa." She hurried away, and Adrian saw Tanga following along with her.

"You let her conjure?"

"She's very smart. I'm so proud of her. I don't think I could do this without her."

"Do what without her?"

"We travel, stop by the little towns and such along the hills. It's pretty tough out here, but it's the best chance a lot of these folks have. Out here they don't have as many of the prejudice about wizards that some of the older towns have. Oh some do. Some chase us out before we can even say hey. Mostly, though, we can do a lot for them and most of them have finally learned that magic is as natural as a water wheel or plow."

The girl brought in the roll of canvas and gave it to the wizard. "Nyssa," he said, "this is Adrian Blackwing. She's not sure whether or not to be afraid of us."

A ping of shock ran through Adrian's body. "Did you pull that from my mind?" she asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.

"No," he said with a gentle chuckle. "I pulled it from the way you gritted your teeth when you felt the magic working in your leg, and from the fact you seem to think it's wrong to let little girls call forth the power of nature."

Adrian didn't quite know how to respond to that, so she didn't say anything. She reached down and massaged her leg a bit, but he pulled her hand away and said, "It probably itches, but you should let it be real still for a while. I haven't closed the spell. Nyssa, can you prep her arm. I'm going to have to do a Bone Shape. I should have had you bring me my medical exemplars. I'll get those."

Mister Gelos followed him out and Adrian caught part something about a bad spell that someone had cast on his mule.

"I should take this off," Nyssa said, pulling at the knots holding the wooden splints on either side of Adrian's arm. The last knot was stubborn until Nyssa held it between her index finger and thumb and spoke a quick little spell that sounded almost like part of a song. Adrian winced as the girl pulled the splints away, leaving her arm setting on the rough dirt floor.

She again took out her little bag of powder and spread it lightly around the swollen area around the break.

"Did you meet Tanga?" She looked over to the door and saw his brown eyes peeking around the corner. "Come on in, Tanga," she called out. "It's okay."

He shook his head and held his position safely outside.

Nyssa laid her cool hands gently over the power and again chanted the lilting and calming power words. The throbbing stopped along with all other sensation. Her arm became numb like a stump. Nyssa pushed her thumb near the break and said, "Tell me if you feel anything."

Adrian shook her head. Nyssa pushed harder. "Can you feel that?"

"No."

Nyssa pulled the strings to close her power pouch then she pushed her long black hair aside and looked over her shoulder to the door. Tanga ducked quickly out of site. She turned back to Adrian and said, "I think he's afraid of me."

"I think he likes you."

Nyssa put her chin down and glanced at Adrian through her drooping bangs. She wrinkled her nose and grinned and for the first time seemed to Adrian like an ordinary little girl. Her composure and demeanor made her seem more like a fellow traveler than a child.

"How old are you?" Adrian asked, ready to start teasing, but Nyssa quickly regained her grown up composure and said, "I'm almost ten."

"You're very pretty. Don't you think boys like the way you look?"

Nyssa dropped her shoulder and pulled her arms close to her for a moment. That movement worked its way into a shrug. She seemed genuinely uncomfortable, not just in a cute, silly way, but almost troubled. Adrian watched Nyssa's face, watched her eyes staring coldly at the floor.

"Hey, kid."

Nyssa looked up shyly with a frown.

"How long have you been doing this conjuring stuff?"

She pushed her hair back, adjusted her head band then looked over her shoulder. "Um." She turned back to Adrian, bright eyed again and said, "Oh, about two years, I guess. It's not hard, really."

"Doesn't the other world scare you?"

"That's just old story stuff. It's easy. I could show you, but I'm not supposed to. It's harder to teach than to do, my papa says."

The large shape of the black robed man stopped again through the doorway, bringing in the dull sounds and misty purple of the fading evening. "What is it your papa says," he asked.

Nyssa hopped to her feet and said, "About not teaching magic until I'm ready."

"Oh my, yes. A very good lesson."

Nyssa moved away and the magician knelt down in her place. He picked up her deadened arm and felt along the bone. "Do you feel any pain?"

"I don't feel anything."

Behind him Tanga stood against the inside of the wall, off in the corner. Mister Gelos lit a lamp and brought it over to where the man was kneeling. Its yellow flame chased away the last of the twilight, turning the doorway into a pit of blackness. Mister Gelos stood next to his son, in the shadow of the magician, camouflaged within their bland hut.

Estus laid down a bit of rolled up canvas and opened it up, revealing dozens of small pockets. From one pocket he took a bit of dry, sticky clay He shaped it into a little snake which he broke apart and placed back together, leaving it unaligned rather like her bone. At that point he began chanting. His face became calm and steady. He swayed so slightly, but his voice was clear and powerful, "Otalla, bekashon. Otalla Kear. Domana jyonk, bekashon-al-abra, otalla kear."

Beside him, Nyssa started pulling an arms length of the wide cotton fabric of its wooden spindle. She pulled off another arms length and cut it from a knife she took out of her ankle boot.

This was as close as Adrian had ever been to such a major spell. What little spelling she had seen was done by old women or twisted, strange men who traveled, stealing, begging, or living alone, as if unable to tolerate the presence of others once their mind was lost to the power of the other world. Rare and strange, talking with dragons and demons, the were to feared and avoided. The odd juxtaposition of talk of magic and the appearance of a well situated gentlemen with a conjuring daughter made the stories of minds lost to the power storm, of madness and flame, seem distant and old, designed to frighten little boys and girls, not a strong and worldly fighter as Adrian. But now, with the weird wildness in this man's eyes, Adrian felt fear hold her down. She bit down hard. It was the casual stance of Mister Gelos and Tanga, standing unconcerned in the shadows that kept her from trying to pull away from him.

As the chant continued, he placed his index and middle fingers into another pocket in his roll of canvas pockets and pulled out some small, greyish slivers, splinters of animal bone, and let them fall onto his clay model.

When the bone pieces touched the clay, he stiffened and grimaced, as if being kicked in the kidneys, and for several seconds he sat stiff, with his eyes closed and shaped the clay. Suddenly he reached down, holding the clay tightly against her arm, pushing hard.

There was a quick crunch and pop from within her arm and the chanting stopped. Nyssa dunked the cotton into the bucket and brought it over sopping and dripping. Estus placed a length of stiff, thick leather across the top of her arm and then he and his daughter wrapped the bandage firmly around her arm.

His voice broke through the fog of her ebbing fear. "Now you need to rest. I'm going to leave the spell open over your leg for the rest of the night, so don't scratch at it too much."

Nyssa added, "the numbing spell will wear off in few minutes."

Estus said, "We'll make camp for the night. We can check on you tomorrow, but you'll be fine." He turned to his daughter and said, "Nyssa, why don't you go start pulling out the gear. I'll go check on this man's horse."

He rolled up his array of canvas pouches, stood up, and then the three of them left into the night, leaving Adrian lying on her mat and Tanga, who came over, grinning and happy. He brushed Adrian's hair away from her face. "You's all better now."

"He's quite a man, isn't he? I don't really know what to think."

"Yeah, he's swell. He's married, though. Got hisself an elf wife, if you can imagine that. My pa, he ain't married. He's quite a real good man."

Adrian chucked and said, "Oh, Tanga, my little weed. I think I should get some sleep."

:^D